


The Queen's Librarian

by shireness



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Lieutenant Swan, if that's a thing, librarian!killian, queen!Emma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 16:03:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireness/pseuds/shireness
Summary: As the palace librarian under Queen Emma's rule, former Lieutenant Killian Jones gains a reputation for knowing not just what books his monarch wants, but those she needs. Perhaps when all is said and done, she'll need the man himself as well.





	The Queen's Librarian

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the CS January Joy event. Rated M for smut-adjacent stuff and some language. Also posted on tumblr.
> 
> Enjoy!

His nieces and nephew cry when they’re told Uncle Killy is going to work in the palace.

“But Uncle Killy, the Queen is _mean_!” his older niece, Sylvie, tries to tell him, like that explains everything. Killian understands where she’s coming from; Sylvie may not truly remember what life was like before young Queen Emma, but she’s heard tales of festivals and peace and a Queen and King who were regularly found mingling with their subjects. At only 2, 4 and a half, and 6, all the little ones know is that there’s a tension in their world now, a current of fear everyone is aware of even if they’re not yet acknowledging it. It doesn’t help that the new Queen is the reason their Papa is gone, off on his ship serving Misthaven in their war against King Arthur and Camelot.

Killian, however, is a quite a bit older than the kids, and can vividly remember the years in which Queen Emma’s parents ruled. Queen Snow and King David had been benevolent rulers, the kind of monarchs you felt cared deeply for each and every one of their subjects. The then-Princess Emma had never displayed the same optimistic exuberance her parents had - Killian always remembers her looking like she’d rather be anywhere else than waving in various public functions. Still, he had never gotten the impression she was unpleasant, but rather that she was impatient, anxious to be doing things instead of just acting as a pretty smiling face to be paraded about. Something about the crane of her neck, or the set of her shoulders. Killian could understand that, on a certain level, that desire to prove oneself. But now, with that opportunity placed firmly in Her Majesty’s hands, there’s no denying that the public persona she displays is of a stiff back and firm jaw, a woman focused on important matters with little time for frivolity.

Killian understands that too; there’s a war on, something her parents hadn’t had to deal with in many years. Sure, they’d maintained an army and navy, like any responsible country - Killian had served in the Royal Navy himself, alongside his brother, before a pirate attack and subsequent medical discharge had left him land-bound and minus his left hand. But they’d been a nation at peace for many years, ever since the ultimate defeat and banishment of the Evil Queen, respected and respectful in their dealings with their neighbors. Unfortunately, when the late Queen and King had died, their shared heart connecting them even in death, the proverbial wolves that had likely always been prowling at the door had pounced, taking advantage of the new Queen’s youth and inexperience as the ideal time to make their aggressive move. King Arthur of Camelot had always been power hungry, fancying himself far more important and deserving than he truly was, but it had still been a shock when mere weeks after Queen Emma had ascended to the throne of Misthaven, he had declared war over some supposed breach of trading agreements. More likely, that was a convenient front for his greedy desire to annex Misthaven’s lands as part of his own kingdom. And so, Misthaven had suddenly been thrown into a conflict it hadn’t anticipated and wasn’t fully ready for.

Killian’s brother had been called back to sea with the outbreak of conflict, leaving his little brother to look after his wife and their three children at the specialty bookshop Belle owned. Liam was a career military man, a Captain in the Royal Navy with his own ship and own command, but one who had scaled back considerably upon his marriage and fatherhood. During the peacetime, Liam had been able to ask for shorter assignments, trips where he could serve his monarchs while still being able to return to his family in a matter of a few short weeks - mostly diplomatic assignments, carrying envoys and messages between the nearby kingdoms. But Liam is gone on a semi-permanent basis now, called to defend his country from the sea, back every few months - if they’re lucky - for only a few days at a time for the past two and a half years.

Killian’s injury, that devastating loss of his hand, means he’s unable to serve his country in the traditional way like he might have if he had still been a full-bodied man. Perhaps that’s why he accepts when he’s offered the job as the new palace librarian after the position’s previous holder had retired; despite his inability to fight, Killian still wants to assist the cause, even if this is the only way. It’s not as if this will be a hardship, anyways; quite the contrary. He’d go so far as to call it an honor. He started his second career in bookselling just as a way to help out his sister-in-law and keep himself from going mad with boredom, but he’s found it suits him well. He’d always been a voracious learner, and working in the shop gives him an excuse to read anything that strikes his fancy on the pretense of needing to provide reviews to their customers. The exactitude of the work appeals to him as well, the strict system required to maintain an organized and functional bookseller’s playing well with the ship-shape mentality so fostered in the Navy. He’s even picked up some of the minor binding repairs, though Belle is still better at those; there are certain tasks you really do need two hands for.

Killian knows, in his heart of hearts, that they probably would have preferred Belle for the job; between her pair of hands and her lengthier experience, having grown up in that very shop and taken it over from her father, she’s the better choice. However, she also has her own business, three small children, and a husband away at sea, all things that keep her from being able to accept the job, even had she wanted to. Thus, Killian is the more _practical_ choice, a bachelor more able to switch jobs at will. Belle can always hire more help, and besides, with the on-site housing the position provides, he’ll be able to send money back home to her and the children.

So he reassures his little gaggle that things will be _fine_ , just fine, nothing to worry about, and packs his bags for this new opportunity.

As he approaches the gates, however, he thinks that the kids might have a point. There’s something about the towers and sturdy stonework that, while elegant from afar, seems so intimidating up close, more fortress than grand home. Killian tries to tell himself that he’s just being silly, but it kicks his nerves into high gear. Gods, what has he gotten himself into?

 _Courage, man_ , he scolds himself. _There’s nothing to be afraid of._

It helps that there’s someone already waiting for him when he gets closer, an older gentleman with a serious face but smiling eyes. He holds his tall frame like a soldier, like someone always waiting for some threat to pop out from around the corner; Killian wonders which branch he’s served with, if he’s still serving or working at the palace in some other capacity.

“Lieutenant Jones?” the man asks, before Killian’s thoughts can run away any further. His voice matches his appearance, somehow; firm and sure, yet not particularly loud. It’s been a while since Killian was referred to by his rank, but there’s something almost comforting about the title. It’s able to snap him out of his nerves and back into the job at hand.

“Aye, sir, that’s me,” he replies smartly, barely resisting the urge to salute. It’d look silly anyways; he’s only got the one hand, and it’s filled with the little bag packed full of his clothes. It probably would have been more practical to wear his hook, at least for carrying his stuff, but he knows how the damn thing looks and had wanted to make a good first impression. The wooden hand is damn near useless, but it tends to set people more at ease.

“Captain Graham Humbert,” the other man introduces himself, wisely choosing to nod in Killian’s direction instead of the more common handshake. A perceptive man, too, Killian notes; though maybe it’s others who should feel embarrassed about trying to shake the hand of a one-handed man, he’s always the one who feels off-kilter as he’s forced to juggle around everything he’s carrying to appease other people. “I’m one of Her Majesty’s advisors, and have been tasked with getting you settled.”

“A pleasure,” Killian nods in return. It may be too early to make any real judgements, but so far, he likes Captain Humbert and his direct manner. He seems like a calm man who you always know where you stand with, and there’s a lot to be said for that.

“Now, if you’ll follow me?” Humbert gestures, opening the gate and sweeping an arm wide in invitation.

“I’ll show you to your room, and the library of course, as soon as possible,” the older man explains as they walk across the grounds, following the neat cobblestone path, “but there’s the formalities to take care of first. Namely, meeting the Queen. As for your room, it’s right next to the library itself where you’ll have a office as well —”

“Meet the Queen? Now?” Killian sputters out as his mind catches up with his companion’s words.

“Yes, meet the Queen,” Humbert repeats as if it’s obvious, raising his eyebrows. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no problem at all,” Killian rushes to cover. “I just… er…” There’s the strongest urge to scratch behind his ear, a nervous tic he’s never quite broken, but his hand’s not free for that particular maneuver. He can’t quite put into words why the idea of meeting his monarch makes him nervous, mostly because he can’t put his finger on it himself. Obviously, he’d known that he’d be interacting with officials in his new position, but this feels a little bit like tossing him to the wolves straight away to see what he’s made of. He shouldn’t be so nervous; it’s not the first time meeting his monarch, that occasion happening years and years ago in the ceremony when he was first promoted to Lieutenant, back when the late Queen Snow and King David were still alive and he’d had good reason to be nervous as a young and clueless lad.

Humbert is good enough to smile and clap him on the back reassuringly. Killian’s really warming up to that man. “It’s just a formality - nothing to worry about,” he reiterates. “She just likes to be kept up to date and meet the staff. Put a face to the new names, if you will. I promise, she’s not nearly as intimidating as you’d think.”

“Well that’s… good.” What else is he supposed to say?

Killian had expected to be led to the throne room for the introduction, much like he had all those years ago, but Captain Humbert leads them through a maze of hallways, deeper and deeper into the palace, before stopping to knock on one of the doors. It must be a private wing; the carpets and sconces are still elaborate and expensive, but he somehow feels like it’s seen by few.

“Come in,” a voice sounds, faintly. It’s a female voice, so Killian supposes it must belong to the Queen, but he didn’t expect Her Majesty to sound quite so… distracted. Maybe the voice is from some sort of secretary or assistant, instead? Regardless, Killian braces himself for the introduction to come, posture snapping to attention in a way he’d never quite forgotten even after his discharge from the Navy.

When Humbert opens the door, however, it’s not a harried assistant waiting for them, but the Queen herself, bent over a stack of papers at her desk and clearly paying more attention to the words on the page than anything else going on around her. Killian almost expects to see little spectacles perched on her nose to complete this picture of fierce concentration before remembering that the Queen is still just a young woman, a few years younger than himself, even. She likely has several more years yet before she’ll need reading glasses. The room itself is much less grand than he expected - filled with well-made and doubtless expensive furniture, he’s sure, but it doesn’t feel like some display piece on a grand scale. It feels used, lived in. You can’t fake that homey air or items set down absent-mindedly as new matters demanded attention.

She pops her head up quickly enough, eyes wide with surprise and anticipation, when the Captain clears his throat to get her attention. “I hope we’re not interrupting, Ma’am,” he cautions.

“No, of course not, it’s fine, Graham,” she excuses. “I needed to take a break from these reports anyways. Is this the new librarian?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the other man replies, surreptitiously nudging Killian to prompt him to respond on his own - a necessary measure, considering Killian would have been more than happy just to let the Queen’s advisor lead this conversation.

“Killian Jones, Your Majesty,” he introduces himself, stepping forward to sketch a little bow as well as he can with his bag still in hand. “It’s an honor.”

“You were in the Navy, were you not?” she asks. Killian tries not to be too flattered that she knows that; if the stack of reports on her desk is any indication, she must be briefed about everything, no doubt including changes in her staff. Still, it’s nice that she remembered.

“Aye - I mean, yes, Ma’am,” he hastens to correct. ‘Aye’ feels just a little too informal for an audience with his sovereign. “I was a Lieutenant on the _Jewel of the Realm_ before my injury.”

“That’s what I thought.” The Queen smiles, but it seems more a perfunctory gesture. Then again, with the weight of this war no doubt hanging over her head, her ability to find joy in things must be hindered. “If you need anything as you assume your duties, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let either Captain Humbert or myself know. I’m sure you have quite the task on your hands - the previous holder of the position was… a little set in his ways.” Killian assumes she means old and eccentric. Gods willing, the task ahead of him will be a manageable challenge.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Queen Emma’s already turned her attention back to her paperwork, which Killian assumes is his cue to leave.

“Nothing to worry about,” Humbert smiles and says again once they’re back in the hallway and presumably moving towards the library and Killian’s chamber. “I’m afraid most of your interactions with Emma will be like that - she’s a bit too busy for much else these days,” he continues fondly.

The clear affection in the other man’s tone throws Killian off. There’s obviously some piece of Captain Humbert and the Queen’s relationship that he’s not quite grasping. “Pardon me, but you said you were one of Her Majesty’s advisors?” Killian cautiously asks.

“Yes, but I was her godfather first,” Humbert explains, correctly guessing where Killian’s question is leading. “Advisor sounds a bit better now though, considering she’s a grown woman in charge of a country.”

“Aye, I can see where that might be the case,” Killian chuckles.

They continue in silence only a few minutes longer down the corridors before stopping in front of a beautiful pair of glass-paned doors, the library just visible behind the decorative ironwork supporting each frame. Killian takes a moment just to marvel as his guide holds one of the doors open - it’s truly a wonder of a library that he’s faced with, and it’s about to all be his responsibility.

“Are you coming in?” Humbert asks, smiling at what must be an expression of childlike awe on Killian’s face. “I promise, you’ll get plenty of time to look your fill.”

“My sister-in-law would love this,” Killian explains as he finally crosses the threshold. “My nieces and nephew, too.”

“They’re welcome to visit. Perhaps once you’ve gotten a little more settled in?”

Killian grins at the thought. “They’d love that. _I’d_ love that. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” the older man says. “Truly, we want you to be as comfortable here as can reasonably be arranged. Just say the word. Now, you’ve got an office through that door —” he gestures towards the right-hand side of the room, where another ornate door is nestled between arching staircases to a second balcony-level of shelving — “and the librarian’s quarters through the other.” The door on the left-hand side mirrors its pair in placement, but doesn’t feature the same glass and ironwork as the main doors and office door do - likely to provide greater privacy. “There’s a lower level too, down a short staircase in the office, where the older and more fragile documents are stored away from the light. Would you like to go straight to the catalog, or would you prefer to deposit your bag first?”

“The bag first, if you don’t mind.” At Humbert’s acquiescent and friendly nod, Killian quickly crosses to the door leading to his rooms, briefly switching his bag to hang from his prosthetic to open the door. The room inside is reasonably sized, containing both a small sitting area and a bed with a dresser, all in warm woods and soft green fabrics that make the whole space feel comfortable. The two windows overlook a lovely view of the gardens, and if he’s not mistaken, the room is positioned to catch the light for as late as possible in the evenings, with a view of some beautiful sunsets to boot. It’s easy for Killian to imagine himself spending time in these rooms, doing his own private reading and spending his off hours.

It’s easy to tell Captain Humbert as such when the other man asks how he found his accomodations once he emerges back into the library.

“Excellent,” Humbert beams. “Now, as for the catalog,” he segues as they move instead towards the office, “I’m told it’s a very thorough compendium. However, Mr. Bradford’s organization system is… truthfully, a bit hard to follow. It made sense to him, but not to most others. I’d call it archaic, but I really don’t have enough knowledge of any other library system to make that judgement. If you will?” He gestures again through the doorway. The office proves to be neat and organized as Killian walks in; a sturdy wooden desk occupies the center of the room, with storage cabinets, presumably containing item records, lining the walls, leaving only a gap for a downwards twisting staircase. Killian assumes that’s for the fragile storage his guide had earlier described.

“The item records are organized alphabetically by title, we’ve discovered,” Humbert continues, “but the shelving itself is a bit of a mystery. As far as we can tell, they’re organized alphabetically by author, but in several different sections that we haven’t been able to really deduce the method of. Personally, I think Bradford was trying to ensure his own job security by making us dependent on his knowledge,” he jokes.

Taking a quick look at one of the cards in the nearest cabinet, Killian is relieved to see that not only is each one neatly written, but he can readily discern what this system is. Humbert had hit the nail right on the head in calling it “archaic” - the previous librarian had evidently been ordering sections by who had printed each volume, an organizational system previously preferred almost a century ago before printing had become easier and more widespread. Belle’s father had actually been one of the devoted hangers-on to that system, before she had taken over the shop and reorganized by subject matter.

“I am familiar with this system,” he assures Captain Humbert, “though I do agree, it’s rather… unwieldy. Is there perhaps someone I can borrow to help reorganize? I think that will be the first priority here.”

“Yes, of course, I’m sure a couple of page boys could be spared. I’ll take care of it first thing tomorrow,” Humbert assures him, his friendly face visibly relieved. The old system must have been giving them quite a lot of problems to elicit that reaction. “Is there anything else you need?”

“I think that’s all. It’s a lovely library you all have here - I’m excited to start exploring it.”

“Then if there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to get settled in - here are the keys. The larger one there,” he indicates on the ring as he passes them over, “is for your office and the archive downstairs, and the smaller for your room. There should be desk keys in one of the drawers as well. As Her Majesty said, if you need anything, just let me know and I’ll see if we can’t do something about it.” With that, Captain Humbert inclines his head in a little bow and leaves Killian to his own devices.

He could get used to this, Killian ponders as he wanders back out into the main library space. There’s obviously a gorgeous collection here, one he suspects covers an enormous breadth and no doubt countless rare volumes he’s only heard rumor of until now. There’s quite a lot to be done as well, of course - the current organizational system truly is a counterintuitive mess, one he plans on revising first thing - but he’s never been opposed to hard work, and with the promised help, the whole thing should go quicker than he expects.

With that in mind, he turns back to the office to buckle down and begin sorting through the existing card catalog.

———

A week and a half later, Killian’s pleased to note that progress is being made. True to his word, Captain Humbert had sent a bright young page by the name of Henry to help with the reorganization effort. Killian initially just had the lad clearing off shelves onto carts, but he’d attacked the task with an unexpected enthusiasm and finished with the prescribed section much sooner than Killian had anticipated. From there, after a morning teaching Henry how to navigate the current organizational system, he’d set the boy to work weeding out and reshelving fiction works, the easiest portion of their reorganization. The lad is happy and eager to help - Killian is seriously considering seeing if he can be made a permanent librarian’s assistant or something, even after they’re through with this project - and it leaves Killian with plenty of time to work his way through the extensive card catalog, sorting entries into their new categories and noting the change on the card. It’s repetitive work, to be sure, but there’s something rewarding about watching the crates he’s borrowed as a temporary catch-all fill up as he sorts each to his satisfaction. He’ll make a second pass through each category later, but for the moment, he’s pleased with the progress.

The thing about the task at hand is that it’s wholly engrossing when he’s in the midst of it; _ten more minutes_ becomes _one more drawer_ becomes half the night if he’s not careful, Henry long since sent away for the evening and Killian left with only the company of a few candles and the sandwich the kitchens sent up for him. That’s how he sees the Queen again, as it turns out - creeping into the library at an ungodly hour of the night.

She visibly startles when she spots him in the glowing candlelight emanating from his office. For good reason, too; when Killian glances at the clock in the corner, it reads a quarter past one in the morning, well past time for him to call it quits and get some rest. Still, it seems wrong to not at least check and make sure that Her Majesty doesn’t need something before he retires, so after standing and stretching out his hunched back, Killian moves to do just that.

“Is there anything you need, Your Majesty?” he calls as he crosses the room. She doesn’t appear to, settling elegantly on one of the soft green couches and reaching for a book on the end table, but he’d hate to be rude and just cross the room without any acknowledgement. Spotting that she appears to be dressed in her nightclothes and a dressing gown, Killian stops himself from approaching too closely; bad form. Still, he waits patiently at a slight distance for her response, if any.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” she dismisses. “Just a bit of late-night reading to lull me back to sleep.”

Killian can’t help but smile; he understands that urge well, having succumbed himself many an evening. “I’m about to retire, myself,” he offers, “but if you need anything at all, just knock on the door. We’re halfway through assembling a fiction section along that wall, if stories strike your fancy tonight.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

(He can’t help but notice that she doesn’t acknowledge his offer of assistance. Then again, that’s really none of his business.)

(Regardless, she doesn’t knock on his door that night, and he writes the incident off as an unexpected encounter with his Queen - and something he may have to get used to in the future, living under the same gilded roof.)

———

Item requests trickle in right from the beginning, but pick up over time. Though Killian expects to eventually be asked for specific government records, most of the requests are fairly trivial; one of the dwarves wants facts to back up his argument with a friend, the cook has a particular fondness for sickly-sweet romances.

The first official document request he gets is incredibly routine - the records of a particular land battle for the queen and her advisors to study. They’re easy enough to locate down in the archive, but on instinct, he grabs the official reports on four other battles and skirmishes that utilized a similar technique. They weren’t strictly requested, but it feels incomplete not to send the whole picture.

When Her Majesty shows up that night to peruse the library - not an uncommon occurrence, he’s learning - it’s with questions for him as well.

“Why did you send those extra reports today?” She asks, browsing the section he’s begun to devote to life sciences - botany, zoology, and anatomy. It isn’t phrased as an interrogation or a demand, just a question, but Killian still feels put on the spot.

“I didn’t mean to presume,” he replies, “but it seemed like the Council would benefit from the fullest picture available. That battle you requested may be most notable for a certain tactic, but I thought it might be prudent to send records of how that tactic could go wrong as well as its most famous success. Illustrate some of the factors that could affect a modern attempt, if you will.”

Queen Emma nods thoughtfully. The silence as he waits for her response is filled with a palpable anticipation. “Thank you,” she finally says. “You had the right instinct. We ultimately decided not to move in that direction after your very thorough offerings.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Killian replies quietly, modestly, but inside he feels a surge of relief, with no small amount of pride mixed in.

“If you can keep it up with that kind of instinct,” she replies, still looking at the shelves, “I think you’ll do very well here.”

———

Really, Killian should just stay out of it. Keep things professional, ignore the fact that the Queen spends half her nights in his library whiling away the hours during bouts of insomnia and just get his own sleep.

That’s not how it works, though. There’s a little niggling instinct that keeps him working until Her Majesty arrives each night, making sure she doesn’t need anything from him before turning into bed. And it’s that same gut instinct that tells him to leave out the adventure tale he runs across while shelving - a tale of pirates and dashing rescues and high-seas capers.

She seems so often to come in and read histories and dry manuals, he’s noticed. Not that there’s anything wrong with her choices; that’s some people’s preferred reading materials. Her Majesty doesn’t seem to take that same enjoyment, though, and he suspects she’s just reading as an extension of all the reports she absorbs over the course of the day. Regardless of her reasons, the frustrated expression on her face certainly suggests she’s not enjoying her reading. If there’s one thing he’s picked up from Belle, it’s that reading should be a happy pursuit, if not the outright passion she herself finds in it; Killian can’t help but want to bring that enjoyment back to the Queen’s face.

When she tiptoes back in the next night, Killian takes a deep breath to fortify himself before crossing to her customary spot on the couch with the slim red volume in hand. “Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty, but I thought you might enjoy this,” he tells her, thrusting the book in her direction, likely more rudely than he intended.

Carefully, she takes the book from him, a look of confusion gracing her lovely face. “Oh?”

“It’s an adventure tale,” he explains. “Pirates and princesses and daring escapes and True Love. It’s not a particularly serious book, but…” he trails off, suddenly feeling silly.

The Queen takes a careful look at the first page before nodding briskly. “Thank you for the recommendation, Lieutenant.”

Killian can’t tell what that tone means, but it’s not his place to press further. “Of course, Ma’am. As always, just knock if you need anything.” Maybe she thinks he’s being ridiculous, and maybe she won’t read it after all, but it’s gratifying to see Her Majesty paging through the novel with her feet tucked up underneath a couch cushion as he closes his door.

(It’s even more gratifying when a few days later, she asks where she can find other books by the same author. Maybe that gut instinct was right after all.)

———

He wasn’t watching, really, not on purpose. It’s not like he waits by the library windows, just hoping to catch a glimpse of Her Majesty in the gardens. Killian can’t help it, though, if he just happens to spot her as he crosses past the windows as he moves from shelf to shelf.

He can’t bring himself to regret it, though.

From where Killian stands, he can look down over the green lawns where the Queen is practicing archery, shooting arrows at flying targets tossed by an assistant with unerring, deadly accuracy. He didn’t know this was one of her many talents, but he supposes it makes sense; her mother, the late Queen Snow, was famously proficient with a bow. It stands to reason her daughter would inherit that talent.

Killian already knew from his interactions with Queen Emma that she’s a marvel of a woman - brilliant and strong, not to mention breathtakingly beautiful - but this demonstration of her fierce side is something else, something new that leaves him watching in awe. Watching her like this reminds Killian of the warrior queens of legend, women who led armies and charged headfirst into battle alongside their soldiers. With such a fragile line of succession in Misthaven, Killian knows Emma would never be allowed to do the same, but that picture is still in his head. He’s certain she’d make a glorious sight and be absolutely brilliant in that role.

Killian watches for a few minutes longer as Emma shoots down target after target before turning back to the library, this time with a specific quest in mind. If he remembers correctly, they’ve got a biography of Queen Elendrea around here somewhere - he’ll have to pull it and set it aside for the next time insomnia brings the Queen to his little corner of the world.

Sure enough, she’s down in the library the next night, 12:30am, right on time. When she sees the book, she smiles wryly, turning the leather-bound volume back and forth in her hands. Her Majesty isn’t much of a smiler, Killian’s noticed; she makes the motion just fine, but it rarely seems genuine, more just a reflex than anything else. He hopes that maybe, one day, he can coax a real one out of her - or at least that one of his books can.

“I suppose you saw that earlier then,” she comments. She doesn’t put the book down, though, he’s pleased to note, instead fiddling with the edges and running her thumb down the pages.

“Aye,” he replies, somewhat bashful. “I didn’t mean to, of course, I just looked out the windows —”

“It’s fine, Jones, no need for excuses.” That smile is almost real, even if it’s small - probably because he’s scratching at his ear like a dog, a nervous tic he’s never been able to shake. Damn thing.

“It was very impressive,” he offers in response. “Very… fierce. I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of that.”

“Just working off some frustration,” she shrugs. “My mother used to bring me out when I was upset. It’s not the same without her, but I still enjoy it.”

“I was wondering,” Killian smiles back. “Is that your weapon of choice, then?” The words are teasing, but he’s genuinely curious as well; King David had been a legendary swordsman, and Killian had grown up on the legend of how he slayed a dragon.

“Just the bow, I’m afraid. My father tried to teach me to sword fight, but it turns out I’m not very good.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” Killian smiles. “From what I’ve seen, you’re a very capable woman. I’m sure you can do anything you set your mind to.”

“That’s very kind, but really, I’m not very good at it,” she assures him, looking amused that he’d even think otherwise. “There’s too much footwork, and I’ve never been very good at keeping track of my feet - especially not while having to focus on my arms at the same time. It took me an embarrassing amount of time to learn how to dance, and I’m still not very good,” she confides.

 _I’d love to dance with you, all the same_ , he wants to say. That’s crazy talk, though; he can’t say that to the Queen. Where did such a crazy thought even come from? He veers towards safer territory instead. “I haven’t picked up a sword, myself, since my injury,” he says, waving his stump as if in illustration, “but if you’d ever like to spar, I’d welcome the opportunity. Without a second hand, we might be evenly matched,” he jokes.

“What, in here?”

Killian shrugs, almost exaggerating the motion in an effort to seem casual. “Why not? There’s plenty of space in here, enough not to have to worry about injuring the books as long as we stay towards the center. And who knows, it might tire you out enough to sleep.” The Queen adopts a thoughtful expression at that point, but Killian is wise enough not to press it further. Bad form. “Just a thought.”

They retreat to their separate corners, as is customary, but Queen Emma does so with a pensive look on her face - and with the biography in her hand, Killian is pleased to note.

(He’s even more pleased when she returns the next night with a pair of blunted practice swords. As it turns out, she’s just as mediocre with a sword as promised, but he’s very out of practice himself. It’s worth it, anyways, to watch her work up a sweat bouncing across his stone floors.)

———

The moment Queen Emma walks through the doors one evening, maybe three months after their late-night sessions in the library began, Killian can tell something is wrong. Though glimpses of happiness on her face are nigh-on unheard of, that’s usually replaced instead by determination, the undeniable sense that though exhausted and often frustrated, she’s got a spine of the strongest steel underneath that pristine skin. Tonight, though, she just seems listless, a bit lost, picking up a stray book from the table but making no move to page through it. Not that he can blame her - it’s a very dry volume about agriculture techniques that he’d set aside for one of the advisor’s reference earlier. Still - he can’t help but be concerned.

“Pardon my presumption, Your Majesty,” he broaches cautiously, “but are you alright?”

“I don’t even know,” she mutters, seemingly to herself as she stares off into the middle distance. As she realizes her words were audible, she quickly snaps back to attention, shaking her head as if to dispel the thoughts. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to listen if you need an ear,” he offers in return. Personally, Killian thinks the Queen needs that; she seems to spend so much time performing for others, without taking any for herself. He won’t wheedle or force her to say anything - lord knows he doesn’t have that standing, even if he’s eager to help her in any way she’ll allow.

He doesn’t need to wheedle though, it turns out, as Queen Emma sighs heavily and turns to face him. “I just wonder what I’m doing some days is all. My parents prepared me as best they could, but there’s no way to really know what to expect until you’re sitting on that throne. Especially with a war. Men are dying every day on the borders, and the citizens are terrified, and maybe I try my best, but how good is that? Most days, I feel like I’m making this up as I go along,” she confides with a dark chuckle. “My parents… they were supposed to be here for so much longer. I _crave_ their advice every day, while at the same time, I feel so bitter about the fact that they left me here without their counsel. I know they couldn’t help it, of course, but… they shared a heart. They made that decision, and they did it out of the truest love, but most days, as the one left behind, it feels like they chose each other over their only daughter. And it’s stupid, and irrational, but it _hurts_ , especially when I still _need them_ so badly. My mother was pregnant with me, you know, back when she gave half her heart to my father. And I’m so grateful every day that I got to grow up knowing him, and loving him, and being loved by him, but she didn’t know it would work. She didn’t know that the fairies could bring him back to life with half her heart after Regina crushed his. She could have _died_ , attempting that, and me along with her, but she made that decision. And I’m grateful for it, but on days like today when I feel so lost and unsure what to do, it feels like they’d rather be together and dead than alive - without the other, but with me. Their daughter. Who _needs_ them, so badly. Because _I don’t know what to do._ ” By the time she finishes her speech, one he suspects has been bottled up for far too long, there’s tears trickling down her cheeks.

Maybe it’s overstepping, but Killian carefully reaches out a hand to brush the tears away. She needs that right now more than any propriety, he thinks. “You’re doing the best you can,” he assures her gently. “And maybe that doesn’t always feel like enough, but it’s the most anyone can ask of you. You are the fiercest, most brilliant woman I’ve had the honor of meeting, and I can’t tell you how much I admire what you’ve managed to do. It’s no small feat, leading a country through a war,” he reminds her gently with a smile.

“You really think so?” She asks in a small voice, looking up at him with those big, sad, scared eyes.

“I do. One hundred percent.” An idea strikes him suddenly. “I’ll be right back,” he assures the Queen as he moves to grab the volume he has in mind, one Henry had stumbled across earlier and spent half the afternoon entranced by. Returning to the couch, he carefully places the brown leather tome in Her Majesty’s lap.

She chuckles a little. “A book of fairytales?”

“A book of fairytales,” he echoes. “My sister always says that fairytales teach us to have hope, even in the darkest of times, and I think you could use a little of that right now. I have _full_ faith you’ll find a way to bring us through this.”

“Thank you,” she smiles through the residual tears - the first real smile she’s directed just at him.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“You know, after all this tonight,” she laughs, “I think you could just call me Emma. I’d like it if you did.”

“As you wish, Your - Emma. As you wish, Emma.”

———

“I’ll be leaving for a few days,” she tells him one night, almost offhandedly, sitting on her favorite couch as Killian adjusts some of the shelving spacing. “Do you have any recommendations for me to take with?”

Killian’s heart lurches a little bit at that, but he tries to school himself and his traitor heart back into neutrality. The announcement shouldn’t mean anything to him; she’s his Queen, after all, and he’s got no right to harbor any fonder feelings than loyalty, _maybe_ comradeship after all these nights amongst the stacks.

“Well, I suppose the materials I’d send with you to prepare would depend on what you hoped to achieve from this journey,” he replies carefully, making a point to keep his gaze focused on the shelves, lest his gaze give anything away. No doubt, if she looked closely, she could spot his very heart shining out through his eyes, and he’d prefer not to be that obvious, thank you very much.

“I can’t really tell you that,” she replies apologetically. “That doesn’t matter anyways, though. I meant something to read for myself. You know, one of your famous recommendations.”

Killian falls silent at her words, crossing over to peruse the fiction section. Something for her to take with her… the obvious choice would be an adventure story, something to while potential hours in a carriage and make whatever this journey is seem akin to whatever quest for glory she’s reading about. However, Killian’s mind keeps being drawn instead towards the poetry section. It’s riskier, for certain, but his instincts have served him well thus far, so he continues to go with his gut in selecting a collection of love poems. It’s a little too close to how he feels inside, but when has that ever stopped him?

Quickly, he finds a small box to put the volume in before moving to hand it off to the Queen. “Promise you won’t peek, not until you’re on your way,” he warns, smiling teasingly at her and holding the parcel just out of reach.

Queen Emma rolls her eyes, but she smiles too as she reaches for box. “I promise.”

(It’s a moment that could make or break his fledgling affections in her hands, but that’s a risk he’s chosen to take. After all, his intuition when it comes to books has served him well thus far.)

She’s gone for almost a week, and Killian feels like he spends half that time just watching his doors to see if she’s about to walk back through. Gods above, he’s pathetic, pining after a woman so wildly out of his reach. That awareness still doesn’t keep his heart from leaping with excitement when Emma walks back into his library, flopping dramatically - or maybe just exhaustedly - into a chair.

“It’s good to see you back,” he smiles. “Did your trip go well?”

The Queen - _Emma_ raises a hand above the chair back to wiggle it in a so-so motion. “It was… eventful,” she finally settles on.

“Is that so?” He doesn’t want to push too hard, knowing she couldn’t tell him even her destination before her departure, but he’s curious, and a willing ear if she wants it.

“Yeah.” She pauses, leaving a stretched silence in her wake before she breaks it again. “What I’m about to say… it’s just between us, alright? Not that you’re a gossip or something, but really, this doesn’t leave here.”

“Of course.”

“I went to the border to meet with one of Camelot’s generals,” she confides. “Lancelot. Good man. There’s apparently a lot of anger and unrest in their country about this war as Arthur keeps conscripting men and diverting more resources than can be spared to the army. He wanted to speak with me about whether we’d back a new government if it came to power. That’s what’s been keeping me up a lot of nights lately - the messages we receive from him.”

“Understandable.”

“He wanted us to meet to talk about a potential successor. Some noblewoman, he said. He _maybe_ forgot to mention that the noblewoman was Queen Guinevere.”

Killian snorts - with that tone of voice, he can’t help it.

“I know, right?” Emma smiles back. “That was a bit of a shock. Apparently, not only has her and Arthur’s marriage been rather on the rocks for a while, but she privately suspects that he’s gone mad and thinks a change in leadership is in order. She’d make a good Queen, I think - she seems genuinely concerned about their subjects.”

“So what did he want to talk to you about then?”

“Support, mostly. If they manage to replace Arthur will we support the new government in return for a mutual peace treaty, blah blah blah. I agreed, of course.”

“Sounds like a successful journey then,” Killian smiles.

“Tentatively, yes,” Emma agrees. Killian is about to turn back to his sorting when she broaches the silence again. “Thank you for the book recommendation. It was lovely.”

Ah yes. That. Killian’s been torn between anxiety about wanting to know what she thought and never wanting to hear about the love poems again, and now is the moment of truth. “I’ve always found those verses to be particularly moving,” he replies carefully.

“I agree. Completely.”

There’s probably more to unpack from that statement, but for the moment Killian lacks the courage to do so. Instead, he flashes a shy smile before turning back to his own distractions.

That’s more than enough to tide him over for tonight.  

———

A visit from Belle and the children was probably overdue.

It’s not that he hasn’t seen them at all - he’s been home, of course, for dinners and Liam’s shore leaves and Max’s seventh birthday, but despite being assured from the very first moment by Graham that they’d be more than welcome to come see him, Killian’s just never arranged for it.

Belle’s been pestering him to see his library, though, and he _does_ miss seeing the children, so he finally sets things up for them to come for a visit. It’s worth it just for the massive hug he gets from his little bookworms, but seeing the awe on his sister-in-law’s face is an enjoyable bonus.

“This is _amazing_ , Killian,” she tells him, spinning around in a slow circle. The true testament to her awe is how she barely pays attention to how her three rascals dash off to explore. Not that there’s much they can really get into - the archives are locked up tight, and Killian keeps a tight ship he’s more than willing to adjust if anything is left out after little hands pull them off the shelves. Still, Belle’s always been concerned about maintaining a very precise shelving system, so her lack of concern about possible impending disarray is a real testament to her distraction.

“This is _yours_ , Uncle Killy?” Sylvie yells from across the room, the excitement obvious on her face. Her mother’s daughter, that one.

“I’m taking care of it, little love,” he explains. “The library is the Queen’s, but I get to use it. And that means that all _you_ ruffians get to use it too,” he smiles, bending down to bop Harriet gently on the nose - the only one who hadn’t gone running off immediately.

As if on cue, the doors to the library open, the one squeaking slightly on its hinges. “Jones, I’m looking for —” Emma begins before drawing up short. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Not at all, Your Majesty,” he smiles. He does remember her permission to call her by her given name, but it seems more appropriate to stick to formality with his family present. They’re actively trying to instill good manners and good form into the little ones, anyways. “Just taking a moment to show off the library to my brother’s wife and children.”

The aforementioned wife and children are clearly startled by the interruption, their expressions ranging from mild fear from the young ones to awed surprise from their mother. Quickly, Killian stoops to pick up Harriet from where she’s trying to hide behind his legs, gesturing to Belle to herd the other two closer for an introduction.

“Ma’am, may I introduce my sister, Belle —” she drops into a slight curtsey, likely straight out of some half-remembered etiquette book — “and her children, Max, Sylvie, and Harriet. And this, of course,” he gestures back at Emma, “is Her Majesty, the Queen.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Emma tells them. He can tell that she’s making a concerted effort to exude warmth, her smile one of the rare, genuinely happy ones he’s so rarely seen. She even makes a point to engage his nieces and nephew. “Thank you for letting your uncle come work for me. He’s very good at his job.”

Max and Sylvie still look wary, but little Harriet nods sagely in his arms, like that’s all she needs to hear to like the Queen. Who knows; she’s not yet three, maybe that’s true.

It doesn’t take much to sway the other two, though, especially when Emma leads their mother to her favorite couch to talk about Belle’s recommendations for stories of suspense. At some point, Harriet even ends up standing on the cushion next to the Queen with Emma’s arm bracing her upright as her little fingers play with the few golden tendrils escaping from Emma’s updo.

“See? Not so scary,” Killian murmurs into Sylvie’s ear where she’s curled against his side, paging through some zoology book with beautiful illustrations of fish.

“Of course she’s not scary, Uncle Killy,” Sylvie replies, her brow furrowed in stubborn insistence. “Don’t be silly.”

How easy it is for children to forget and change their minds.

———

“I’ll bet you never imagined this, the first time we met,” Emma pants after a round of sword fighting. She remains slightly terrible at the art, but had actually managed to put her sword to his throat tonight, so maybe there’s hope yet. “Can you believe that was only a few months ago?”

“I really can’t,” he assures her, and it’s true - their dynamic feels so natural that it feels like he and Emma must have been spending their nights together in the library for an eternity. “Granted, that wasn’t the first time we met,” he adds as an afterthought.

Emma frowns at that. “It wasn’t?”

“No. You remember how I was a Lieutenant in the Navy, of course?” he asks. Emma nods in return, though her brow is still furrowed in confusion. “And you remember how such a promotion usually warrants a ceremony here? Especially when one’s brother is made a Captain at the same time?”

“I suppose we would have met then, wouldn’t we?” Emma realizes. “I’m sorry that I didn’t remember.”

“It’s quite alright, love, you’ve doubtless had to do a good many of those ceremonies.”

“It sounds like you remember me, though,” she comments.

Killian bashfully reaches for his ear, only to realize that with the hook, that’d be a terrible idea likely ending in injury. “Aye, well, I was a 23 year old lad, still wet behind the ears, and quite smitten.”

“Oh really?” Emma laughs back, clearly amused by the idea.

“Oh, aye. Absolutely smitten. You were all lightness and smiles and grace, and I was lost. Liam gave me a good bit of grief about it, actually.”

Something about that makes Emma go quiet again. When she finally speaks, it damn near breaks Killian’s heart to hear. “I’m sorry I’m not that girl anymore,” she tells him.

“I’m not that man, either. It’s been eight years; we both grew and changed. I don’t think the younger Emma and I would get on well, not with the man I’ve become,” he replies. He should stop there, but dangerous words bubble on the back of his tongue, and he can’t help but let them spill out. Oh well; instinct has served him well thus far where Emma’s concerned, anyways. “Just because you’re not that innocent, lighthearted girl anymore doesn’t make you any less enchanting. You’ve become so much more in the ensuing years - a strong, capable woman who’s all the more beautiful for it. Any man who doesn’t prefer the woman you’ve become over the girl you were is a fool.”

“And are you a fool, Lieutenant Jones?” Emma asks, stepping into his space to rest her delicate hands on his chest.

Killian swallows, working up his courage again; this feels like a major moment. “Not in that regard.”

She smiles, one hand gently stroking over his heart. “Enchanting, huh?”

Killian finds himself moving once more on instinct - his stump to rest lightly on her hip, and his hand to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. “ _Utterly_ enchanting,” he whispers, before finally leaning down the last little distance required to capture her lips in a gentle kiss. Maybe it’s improper to be kissing his Queen, but in truth, Emma’s stopped being his Queen long ago to become just Emma, his love.

He’d be more than happy just to spend an eternity on those gentle brushes of their lips, but when Emma starts brushing at the seam of his lips with her tongue, seeking to deepen the exchange… well, he’d be a fool to deny her. And as he said before, Killian Jones is no fool.

The kiss is everything he could want, everything he’s dreamed of in weeks and months of pining. Emma’s hair is indescribably soft between his fingers where his hand has made its way into the strands, as is her hand where it grips at his neck. Her fingers playing with the ends of his hair are enough to make him shudder, ultimately breaking their back and forth of tongues and lips and teeth. That’s probably ultimately a good thing; he’s been told that breathing is important, though it’s never seemed more overrated than in this moment.

As Emma steps away, his stomach plummets - _did she not enjoy that the way he did? Did he overstep?_ \- but she just smiles, bending to pick up her discarded sword and twirling it around in an elaborate arc.

“What do you say, Lieutenant?” She smirks. “Up for another sparring session?”

(If that wink at the end is any indication, Killian doesn’t think she means swordplay - at least, not in the traditional sense.)

Laughing - _laughing! Emma laughing!_ \- she makes a dash for his private quarters, Killian eagerly giving chase and making sure to shut and bolt the door behind them. Even if no one usually comes to the library this time of night, he’s not taking any chances. Killian turns back around just in time to see Emma drop the sword and toss herself onto the bed in a fit of giggles, bouncing a little as she attempts to arrange herself. He’s only too happy to join her, tackling her back onto the pillows before bracing himself above her.

It’s been a while since he’s done this, the years since he lost his hand and spent living with his brother’s family not exactly conducive to an active sex life, but he remembers well enough to manage. It helps that Emma’s got her loose nightdress and underdrawers for him to deal with, having left her dressing gown outside. He draws the garments off her body in between hungry kisses and Emma seems only too happy to help him do the same, working on the laces of his pants as he tosses his hook Gods-only-know-where and whips his shirt over his head. Her fingers seem to trace over his erection more than they strictly need to as she loosens the laces, the devious little minx. Then again, once her self-assigned task is done, she does reach inside to grip and stroke him with one hand while the other works his pants down his thighs, so complaints seem a little ridiculous.

He has to pull away briefly to finish removing his pants, but that’s probably a blessing in disguise; not much longer and he would have lost all reason and control. As it is, when he returns, now able to lie flesh to flesh, he can return the favor.

Certain things, as it turns out, are still buried in his memory, like that thing with his tongue that always drove the ladies crazy back in the Navy. It has much the same effect on Emma, especially when paired with fingers plunging, stroking inside her as his tongue and lips go to work on her sensitive nub. In contrast, he _thought_ he remembered exactly the way it felt when a woman clenched in climax around his fingers, that surge of masculine pride to match the cresting of her ardor, but with Emma it seems sweeter, better earned.

(That may just be the taste of her release on his lips, however. He’s more than satisfied, either way.)

The sex itself is, not to understate the matter, _glorious_. There’s always some adjustment with a new partner, learning a rhythm both can follow, but with Emma he falls into sync quickly in a perfect balance of her hips arching upwards and his driving forward on long, delicious thrusts. It’s probably a miracle he’s able to bring her to completion again along with him, the time it’s been since his last encounter bringing him close in an embarrassing amount of time, but he’s able to brace himself on his left arm and reach down to rub just above where they’re joined while mouthing at one of her breasts and somehow, some way, it’s just enough to get her there, the tight clasp of her flesh quickly pulling him after her.

It’s easy to pull her into his arms afterwards, tucking her lithe body against his side and letting their legs tangle together. Maybe there will be a second round later, but for the moment, sleep is calling. Anything else can wait.

“Those are some impressive sword skills you’ve got there, Lieutenant,” Emma mumbles, voice somewhat muffled by the way she buries her face in his still-naked chest. “I insist that we continue our dueling later.”

Killian chuckles tiredly, letting a content little smile appear on his face. “As you wish, milady.”

———

It’s hard to pull himself out of slumber’s grasp, but years in the Navy mean that Killian is dragged back to awareness by the distant sounds of shouting. There’s an urge to just ignore it, to not open his eyes, to let himself slip back into sleep; the events of the night prior were so wonderful he’s frankly afraid they were all a dream, and he’s not anxious to wake up and discover that for certain. Emma stirs a little in his arms, though, and it’s suddenly easier to open his eyes when faced with that proof. He’s eager to see what she looks like in the disarray of the morning anyways.

Beautiful, as it turns out - exquisitely rumpled, with her hair tumbling every which way on the pillow and a peaceful little smile on her face. Killian would be happy just to watch her all morning, but the shouting sounds again, and he’s on instant alert. Not a dream, then.

“Emma,” he hisses, shaking her by the shoulder. “Darling, wake up.”

“Don’ wanna,” she mumbles, trying to turn her face into the pillow.

“Emma, something’s wrong,” he insists. “You’ve got to get up.”

Just at that moment an almighty clatter sounds in the hallways, snapping her to awareness. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know. Let me find out.” Quickly, Killian grabs his trousers off the floor, quickly sliding into the legs and tying the laces in a sloppy knot. His first instinct is to walk out into the library, but instinct tells him to check first. Sure enough, as he peeps through the little peephole in his door, they’re not alone. Killian’s blood suddenly runs cold; standing in his library is a strange man holding a sword and wearing a cloak emblazoned with the emblem of Camelot.

“We’ve been infiltrated,” he calls back to Emma as quietly as he can. It’s unnecessary; she’s wiggled into his shirt and crept right up beside him. Killian would take more time to marvel at the sight of her lovely long legs poking out the bottom of his shirt if it wasn’t for the circumstances. As it is, she’s already pushing him aside to take her own peek, just as the man outside cackles with glee.

“I know you’re in here, Your Majesty!” he calls. Emma’s face blanches at the taunt, abruptly swinging away from the little peephole.

“Do you know him?” Killian asks urgently.

“It’s King Arthur,” she hisses back, “though Gods only know what the hell he’s doing here.”

“I know you’ve been speaking with my wife, _corrupting_ my wife,” the intruder continues, conveniently answering Emma’s question. “I know you’ve been trying to steal my country out from under me, you and that traitor Lancelot. I know!” The more the enemy king speaks, the more manic his voice becomes. Killian is suddenly reminded of Emma’s summary of her meeting - that Queen Guinevere feared the King had gone mad. It certainly seems like that’s the case, if the ranting man in the other room is any indication.

“How does he know you’re here?” Killian whispers in question. Arthur shouldn’t have that information.

“My robe,” Emma explains. “It was a gift Guinevere gave me at the meeting, one of a collection of peace offerings. It’s made from very distinctive Camelot silk.”

That would explain it. The how is somewhat irrelevant though, as they’re forced to deal with Arthur’s presence regardless. Killian does his best to tune out the raving as he attempts to come up with a plan. No one knows Emma is here; realistically, no one is coming to save them. As it is, they’re two against one. He’s got his old officer’s sword in his wardrobe, and if worst comes to worst Emma’s blunted sword can be used as a distraction, maybe convince Arthur they’re better armed than they actually are. Play this right, and they might just survive.

“We’re going to have to take him,” Killian tells Emma, as seriously as he can manage.

“Why can’t we just stay here?” Emma hisses back.

“We can have the advantage right now - two against one. Eventually others are going to show up to help Arthur, or he’ll figure out how to swing around and through the bedroom window, and we don’t want either of those things to happen. It’s better for us to fight now, while we’ve still got the best chance to take him out.” As he talks, Killian searches for his hook, finally spotting it underneath his chair.

“What do you want me to do?” Emma asks as he clicks the instrument into his brace. Every weapon could prove a crucial advantage.

“Stay behind me, try to get to some other weapon. I think there’s some historic rapier down in the archive, if you can make it,” he instructs, tossing Emma the blunted sword and moving to retrieve his own weapon. He’s the better swordsman, but it’s better for her to have that than nothing at all. “Ready?”

Just then, Arthur pounds on the door. “Come out and face me, bitch!”

Emma nods in determination. “Ready.”

Killian counts down under his breath, before nodding at Emma to open the door. She shoves it back with force, managing to catch Arthur in the face; the idiot had still been standing right there. He reels back with a sudden gush of blood from his presumably broken nose. That’s good for them; he’s already at a disadvantage.

“You’ll pay for that,” he snarls, lunging forward towards Emma, but Killian blocks the way, raising his sword and forcing the other man to either engage or get slashed.

From there, it’s a furious battle. Killian knows he’s in a fight for both their lives, this spar more important than even any battle he was part of in the Navy, and pours every ounce of his energy into the duel. His arms ache and he’s drenched in sweat, but there’s no quitting, no resting, because Emma’s life is in his hand - his Queen, his _love_ \- and failure is not an option.

Killian’s got Arthur firmly on the defensive, but he’s tiring quickly, and the other man could certainly turn that into his advantage. He’s lost track of Emma, which scares him to pieces, but he’s got the madman in front of him on tenterhooks and he _knows_ Arthur hasn’t been able to reach her. That’ll have to be enough.

It’s almost not, though, because Killian makes a stupid mistake, glances his hip off of one of the tables scattered around the room. He’s distracted only for a moment, trying to make sure he doesn’t trip over the table leg, but Arthur takes that advantage, pressing forward with a crazed look in his eyes. Suddenly his strikes are coming faster and faster and Killian feels the panic rise as he suddenly _knows_ the tides have turned, and not in his favor -

And then, by some miracle, Arthur crumples. Casting darting eyes around him, Killian spots Emma, still poised with a heavy book held aloft where she struck their enemy into unconsciousness.

“Are you alright?” she asks urgently.

“Aye, love,” Killian wheezes back, “just a bit winded. Well done.”

“Thanks,” she replies, tossing the tome aside and making Killian wince. Luckily, when he catches a glimpse of the title, it’s an out-of-date atlas; that probably needs to be removed from the collection anyways. “Now, I don’t suppose you have any rope around?” Killian shakes his head, still too out of breath to speak more than strictly necessary. “That’s fine,” Emma replies. “I’ll just use the belt from that damn robe.”

Gods, he loves her. Killian silently blesses whatever actions of instinct have brought them here, because he’s never encountered any woman more fascinating and magnificent.

A couple of guardsmen, fresh off subduing Arthur’s soldiers, passes by soon enough and is happy to carry the disgraced King down to the dungeons. Thankfully, Emma finds a way to close her robe even without the belt; as keen as Killian is on her excellent arse, he’s not quite as fond of the idea of everyone else catching a glimpse. Graham still seems to know what’s going on anyways as he comes by to check on his goddaughter, rolling his eyes when he spots Killian’s stump arm draped around Emma’s waist, but that’s probably the best outcome they could hope for.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to stay here the rest of the night,” Killian murmurs in her ear as the mass of worried advisors and guardsmen and seemingly everyone else in the damn palace who needed to check on her begins to disperse. It’s obvious that she’s loved by everyone around her, but for the moment, Killian’s more interested in indulging the fledgling affection between just the two of them.

Luckily, Emma smiles back up at him through heavy-lidded, exhausted eyes. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Lieutenant.”

He’s the luckiest bastard alive.

———

Lancelot is more than happy to take Arthur off their hands, meeting the carriage at the Misthaven-Camelot border after freeing Queen Guinevere - soon to be Queen _Regnant_ Guinevere - from the dungeon of Avalon Castle, where the deposed king will himself await trial. Liam and Graham are even happier to be relieved him, however, after being treated to several days of the king’s raving, the speech impediment caused by his broken nose doing nothing to rein him in.

(It probably doesn’t help either that Arthur keeps shouting about _sees fugging da buhworm!_ Killian had tried to convince his brother that he didn’t need to be the one to volunteer to see this through, but Liam had some idea in his head that after Arthur endangered his younger brother, it’s his personal duty to see this through. So really, it’s his own fault that he’s forced to hear about Killian’s love life from a madman.)

(Killian does find himself wishing they had gagged the crazy bastard when Liam goes off on his own rant about bad form and _defiling the Queen_. Especially since if anyone’s doing the defiling, it’s Emma herself, at least if the nail marks down his back and the lovebite barely covered by his shirt are any indication.)

Killian’s tenure as the palace librarian ends up being a relatively short one, but he’s fine with that. He accomplished a lot while he was in the position, and he’s sure the next occupant will bring their own remarkable skills.

His own excellent instincts tell him he’d be an idiot to turn down the promotion anyways. Prince Consort really does have a nice ring to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Librarian!Killian is one of my weaknesses - I hope you've enjoyed this just as much as I did! 
> 
> Special thanks to @snidgetsafan for beta duties. Thanks for brainstorming so much of this with me.
> 
> If you liked this, please consider leaving kudos, comments, or other feedback - I love hearing from you guys!


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